


hold me like you do, cover me in blue

by leopardfringe



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (as an excuse to touch and not for dire reasons), (that have been a long time coming lol), Cultural Differences, First Kiss, Getting Together, Hair Braiding, Huddling For Warmth, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Sokka with Braids, Zuko visits the Southern Water Tribe, and all of the soft implications that comes with touching someone's hair, and has to put up with a plotting Hakoda, good for them!!!, they’re experiencing the epic highs (and no lows) of tender love!, when all he wants to do is just look at some buildings and then maybe get kissed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29347815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopardfringe/pseuds/leopardfringe
Summary: Eventually, Zuko realizes that Sokka searches for ways to let his hands linger—and he gives Sokka every opportunity he can, until they're standing on the precipice of naming what they are, and what all of their gentle touches really mean.All they need, it turns out, is a ruined tassel, some yarn, and an excuse for Sokka to reach out to Zuko's hair, yet again.-He sighs, and very nearly misses it when Sokka softly asks, “helping?”Zuko can only bring himself to languidly nod, and savor the feeling of being so fully held.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 69
Kudos: 422
Collections: zukka fics that make my heart happy





	1. Chapter 1

The thing about Sokka, Zuko learns, is that he gives physical affection like a habit.

He knows this from experience; first as an awkward teenager, fumbling through tenuous new friendships and a slow acceptance that pokes and hugs were things that were going to happen _all the time_ in this group. Zuko, far more used to romantic touches or nothing at all, had struggled at first to accept that people other than his uncle could handle him with such open kindness like this, without any expectations or hidden motives.

But like Uncle’s grounding hugs, his initial wariness eventually melted into an unshakable understanding.

Now, Zuko knows as well as breathing that Toph gives out punches like they’re pats on the back, that Aang seriously enjoys being wrapped up in a strong hug, and Suki likes to link arms because it’s easiest to break away to pull out her fan. Katara prefers to be matched in whatever type of affection she gives out before needing to take a step back, and Sokka—

Sokka reaches out like an invitation, like his hands are an extension of his voice, a brilliant connecting point that always comes with an electrifying undercurrent of an unfolding performance. With him, a touch to the elbow is a careful guide through a scene change to his next point, a friendly arm slung across shoulders the perfect way to punctuate the delivery of his line. A shoulder bump feels like a silent cue, a giggling smile pressed against a temple like a grand finale.

His seemingly constant need for touch is a wildly abrupt shift after the war ends, as if he finally has the easy freedom to let his hands land instead of weaving through the air, and strangely, near alarmingly, Zuko notices over time that Sokka especially loves reaching out to his hair.

Whether it’s in direct defiance to the palace’s ingrained expectation for an untouchable Fire Lord, he’s not sure, but he finds Sokka’s quiet captivation sort of funny. It’s like he can’t help but track the slow process of growth with his own hands over the years, from ruffling the top mop of Zuko’s awkwardly shaggy hair after a teasing joke—to tucking behind his ears the chin-length strands while squeezing Zuko’s face until it hurts to laugh—to gently tugging on the ends of the long length when he’s trying to get Zuko to focus, before steadying his hand on the small of his back so his attention can’t stray again.

At times, his hands feel like a song to Zuko with how they play over him; his touch, sometimes, feels like the refreshing sting of cold water, a nourishing first sip, a deep desire to drink more.

Out of everyone, Zuko had the worst time adjusting to Sokka.

(He never fully does, if he’s being honest. Especially when those hands start to make him ache for a home he doesn’t know, or at the very least a hazy notion of what one could look like.)

But when those hands settle on him, he doesn’t bother in pulling them away, and Sokka doesn’t bother with stopping.

—

Eventually, Zuko realizes that Sokka looks for excuses to let his hands linger—and he gives Sokka every opportunity he can.

—

At some point, Zuko’s going to have to start remembering that his actions have consequences, and when they’re ones he’s forced to overcome, that he’s meant to learn something from it.

Which, as insufferably annoying as it is, he’s ultimately made peace with the concept over the years—except for this time.

It was a flawless set up. Everyone knows that Zuko inherited his uncle’s deep appreciation for architecture, so him jumping at the chance to take a tour of the buildings that have been constructed since his last visit was perfectly predictable. After being teased with such scant views while being carted to the guest quarters, Zuko had greatly appreciated the gesture, and especially the fact that it had come from Hakoda, who always encouraged Zuko to take his time in admiring the new additions in the city.

Naturally he’d say yes.

Of course, it inevitably turns into a formal thing. A group of architects and development committee members also wanted to join, so the tour turns into one that’s being given to Fire Lord Zuko from Chief Hakoda, but none of this stops Hakoda from still resting a friendly hand on his shoulder while they walk, and quietly pointing out certain design elements that he thinks Zuko would especially enjoy.

After about an hour outdoors though, Zuko has the distinct feeling that Hakoda’s innocuous offer was actually a front to make some kind of point at him. 

He’s learned that it doesn’t matter how many times he tries to explain how his internal heat regulation works, and that this ability means the cold doesn’t bother him like it does for non-firebenders—everyone in the South Pole still reacts with explicit alarm every time he steps out in too-light clothing anyway, from Hakoda’s hard wince to Katara’s grumbling eye roll, while Sokka’s eyebrows go through a fairly lively dance, like he’s trying to perfect his look of disappointment into one that will finally make Zuko listen to reason.

(Kanna particularly likes to stare at him with an intimidatingly unimpressed expression, before she thrusts a long list into his glove and sends him out to the market for her.)

It’s both amusing and incredibly frustrating because Zuko’s _not_ lying—the only difference between his ability and Aang’s is that his relies on both breathing and his inner fire, so while he’s never going to necessarily freeze in the tundra, eventually he does hit a limit where the cold can sometimes, _sometimes_ succeed in shocking him to his core as soon as he gets outside.

Unfortunately, this is—of _course_ —exactly what everyone latches onto the second he starts shivering even a little, and makes them stand firm in not believing him.

So the way Hakoda leans in to quietly ask if Zuko wants one of his furs, after noticing how he starts to tense up against the cold, feels a touch too calculated, and is exactly why Zuko is content in placing all the blame on him instead of choosing to learn any type of lesson today.

Sure, he regrets forgetting the soft, cozy, warm fur back in his room, and the wind keeps sneaking underneath his coat so he’s pretty much freezing right now, but Zuko is petulantly stubborn to his core, and with how it seems like he’s the only one fazed by the weather he now feels like he needs to make his _own_ point.

The sidelong disapproving look he receives after declining is so reminiscent of Uncle’s that it does make him feel properly scolded, even in his regalia and crown piece. But he still doesn’t take the extra fur.

Instead, Zuko breathes deeper to stoke his inner fire, fixes his hood to try to block out the worst of the wind, and steadfastly ignores the echoing sound of Uncle’s warning scoff as they continue on the tour. None of it is very effective, except maybe for his uncle’s voice, which has now transitioned into valiantly trying to convince him to just accept the fur and Hakoda’s knowing smile, if it means he can finally get warm again.

As the wind picks up, Zuko’s starting to feel like he might be willing to consider listening.

But then his savior finally comes in the form of a behemoth of a building, and he mentally cheers at besting yet another obstacle in his life through unyielding, petty perseverance.

It’s not indoors, and he’s still cold, but he can at least feel his cheeks again, so he’ll take it.

With its impressive woodwork and perfect positioning to impede nearly all of the relentless wind, Zuko is entirely fine with planting himself right here and listening to the artist’s carving and preservation process. He’s even _happier_ when their group is then interrupted by a few more of Hakoda’s council, looking to request his time for a last-minute consultation, and presenting Zuko with another reward in being able to stay put for just a little longer.

He clings to the chance to play understanding politician, and is already stepping closer to the building’s exterior wall before anyone can apologize for the intrusion.

“Don’t worry about it, Chief Hakoda,” he means it, _so much._ “Take as much time as you need.”

Hakoda assesses him, from his rigid stance to his hands shoved deep into the warmth of his fur-lined pockets, and he huffs out a small laugh. “Feel free to look around, Fire Lord Zuko. There’s plenty to see on this one, and we can always come get you wherever you end up.”

“Thank you, sir,” Zuko politely returns. As soon as the group moves to put some distance between them, he shrugs his shoulders straight up to his ears and shoves his chin deep into the fur around his neck. The fur lining of his pockets twist in his fists as he clamps his arms tight to his sides in an attempt to close any hidden gaps, but somehow the chill of the creeping wind still manages to scrape against his lower back, shocking a deep shiver from him.

_Fuck_ , he’s so cold.

Standing still, he decides, isn’t doing him any favors, even with how close he’s gotten to the building as could be considered socially acceptable for a visiting Fire Lord. So, after stamping his feet a couple of times, Zuko sets off to walk around the building like Hakoda had suggested, in the hopes that he can at least try to distract himself while he waits.

He decidedly does _not_ go down the side where he can hear the wind howling, and instead makes his way over to where the air seems much calmer.

For the most part, it actually works; Zuko has always been fascinated by the Southern Water Tribe’s approach to architectural design as they’ve built up their villages and capital city, and how uniquely set apart their buildings are from even their northern counterparts. He can see sparks of inspiration here and there, where tribesmen from the North had likely contributed their expertise in using packed ice and snow, but the exposed wooden beams and creative use of animal pelts is distinctly Southern.

This time around though, there are a lot of design elements that Zuko doesn’t recognize, even in this building, and it leaves him with a feeling that Sokka likely didn’t have any help with planning these new constructions. It would make sense since he hadn’t joined them on the tour, but for some reason Zuko is taken aback by this, and suddenly he’s studying the facade of the building with keen concentration, trying to pick out the hidden construction details that could’ve been influenced by some of Sokka’s earlier projects.

He’s stuck trying to remember what Sokka had called the protective overhanging part of the roof, when he’s abruptly yanked back and around the corner.

Caught in the middle of a deep breath for his inner fire, the grab startles a slew of fiery sparks out of Zuko’s mouth instead of a proper shout. He twists his body, throwing all of his weight to one side, but the person behind him seems to anticipate the move, and Zuko’s arm is easily deflected as he’s shoved into a hidden side alcove.

“ _Sokka_!”

Zuko gets pressed right up against the wall by Sokka’s hand, causing him to cough out small bits of smoldering embers, and he gives a scathing glare when Sokka snorts out a laugh—though he quickly ducks out of the way when Zuko tries to blow out any lingering ash into his face.

“ _Hey_ , don’t be a dick!”

“Then don’t manhandle me!” Some of the ash did end up in the fur on his coat, and Zuko tries to brush it away before it can smear on his cheek.

He hadn’t been expecting to see Sokka again so soon, after only briefly crossing paths earlier at the beginning of the tour. Enlisted in helping one of the schoolteachers transport her students, Sokka couldn’t do much talking and was really only able to give Zuko a quick wave as he passed by, too busy being deep in an animated conversation with a captivated five-year-old in his arms.

Having him here, smiling and warm right in front of him, makes Zuko’s fire thrum a little in unexpected delight.

“I’m _saving_ you, your fiery assholeness,” Sokka asserts, poking Zuko in his chest, and he grins when he succeeds in getting a huff of annoyance but no retaliatory follow-up. “You’re gonna give Gran-Gran an aneurysm one of these days, if you keep trying to go all day in this thin shit.”

“My clothes aren’t that bad,” Zuko argues, rolling his eyes, though his scoff comes out more like a tiny laugh. “My tailor made them based off of the specifications that you gave her, so I know for a fact they’ve been approved.”

Sokka rolls his eyes right back. “Yeah, except that these are supposed to be your _summer_ clothes, Zuko.”

“ _Except_ ,” Zuko scowls, “the winter ones are too thick.”

His glare does nothing other than make Sokka’s judgmental look ramp up in intensity. “Yeah, there’s a reason for that. It’s so we can stay out in the cold for long periods of time because, you know, it gets kinda nippy here.”

“It’s just because the wind is strong today!” Zuko says, and almost on cue the wind picks up behind them, hurling past the alcove with a loud whine. He doesn’t feel much of it with his front being blocked, but Sokka shivers a little in surprise and shuffles closer, and Zuko pointedly raises his brow. “Told you.”

“Shut up, I was just caught off guard is all,” Sokka grumbles.

“Sure,” Zuko easily agrees, “but if it weren’t for the wind, I’d be fine. You dad also wouldn’t have let the tour continue if he thought I was actually getting too cold.”

“You’re going to give _him_ an aneurysm too. I bet you he didn’t say anything because it’d be weird for him to nag the literal Fire Lord, even if you are the same age as his kids.”

Zuko thinks again about how exceedingly casual Hakoda had been in front of everyone when offering his extra fur, and he supposes he can see the point there. Still, he stubbornly asserts: “It’s not _that_ cold to me though.”

Sokka watches how he very determinedly tries to keep his shivering body still under his scrutiny, and just laughs at him.

“Big bad firebender with his big bad ego,” he mutters with an amused shake of his head, then holds up the things he’s brought with him and bumps them against Zuko’s chest. “I could already tell you were going to freeze when I saw you earlier. As soon as I got done with the kids, I went and snagged some tea and extra fry bread from Gran-Gran. You’ll probably have to heat them up again, but I figured you’d want something warm in you.”

Zuko’s pulse flutters, and he takes the offered items. “And the whole shoving me into an alcove thing?”

Sokka shrugs. “Now you can be undignified as you want in trying to get warm.”

And that, the very idea that Sokka sees so confidently through him that he can guess exactly what he needs to berate Zuko for, sets off a roiling heat through his body faster than he thinks his inner fire could ever do. Sokka complains, and he teases, but he’s always willing to help—and Zuko follows his encouragement without a second thought, sighing happily as he turtleducks his way further into his coat to finally cover his exposed neck and take a long drink of the herbal tea.

Sokka eyes him with an amused smirk. “You know, I distinctly remember Gran-Gran giving you another parka yesterday. Why aren’t you wearing that if you knew you were going to be out all day?”

“Fuck off.” Zuko doesn’t bother to move the steaming cup away from his face when he speaks. “I forgot about it this morning, and then it was too late to go back and change.”

“So what, you decided you’d just deal with it? _All_ day? Dude, you’re so annoying,” he sighs, and then considers the buttons on Zuko’s coat. “You could’ve at least fixed up the buttons so it closed better. I hope you know by now that half of those aren’t just decorative.”

“I tried that,” Zuko snaps, even if he’s only marginally telling the truth. Buttoning the coat all the way up had felt so suffocating that half of them were undone only seconds later. He’d rather be cold than claustrophobic, but he figures Sokka doesn’t need to know that. “It doesn’t do much when it’s this windy.”

“You should’ve just pulled your hood tighter around your neck then. I know this is the wrong kind of coat, but it’s still capable of doing that like your winter ones.”

Zuko’s nose wrinkles a little, and he lowers the cup so Sokka can get the full effect of his displeasure. “No one else was doing that with their hoods.”

Sokka’s expression turns incredulous, looking so stunned that it takes him a second to respond.

“Zuko, _buddy_ ,” he groans out a disbelieving laugh, and he sounds like he’s torn between being impressed at Zuko’s ridiculous resolve or ready to knock him upside his head. Zuko glares at him either way, as a warning. “Again, we’re _used_ to this weather. Seriously, when are you going to start listening to me when I say that?”

“When you start believing me when I say the cold doesn’t affect me as much as you think it does,” Zuko fires back. “My breath—”

Sokka waves away his attempt at another explanation with a heavy eye roll. “Breath of fire, yadda yadda, whatever. So why didn’t you use _that_? Or like, breathe into your hands and put them on your face or something?”

Suddenly, his eyebrows furrow and he squints at Zuko, as if trying to assess something. Zuko’s not sure what he’s meant to be finding, other than maybe the tiniest betrayal on his face of how hard his heart is beating at his closeness. “Wait, can that go out or anything, if you’ve been out for too long? Is that a thing?”

He huffs and nudges Sokka’s worried face away with an elbow. “It’s not cold enough to do that yet. I’m just wearing gloves and didn’t want to burn through them.”

Sokka looks like he’s about to hit him again. “Then…take the gloves off?”

“Uh, _no_?” Zuko’s not afraid to smack him back, if he actually decides to follow through. “The inside of the gloves will get cold while I have them off, and I’m going to have to deal with it until my hands warm back up. Stop trying to problem solve me, Sokka.”

He doesn’t hit him, but he does level Zuko with the most disparaging look that has ever graced his face, and Zuko thinks he’s going to punch him anyway.

“Are you seriously telling me you’d rather have warm hands than the rest of your… _everywhere_ being cold?”

Zuko sniffs. “I like having working fingers.”

Sokka just stares at him, mystified by Zuko’s sheer stupidity, before solidly dropping his forehead into his collar.

“Holy _shit_ , Zuko, you—every day where you don’t freeze to death leaves me absolutely _amazed_ ,” he crows, and moves to avoid an angry attempt at a headbutt with a loud cackle. Sokka shifts then, bringing his hands up to start breathing hotly into his cupped palms and quickly rubbing them together, before he takes his gloves off and deposits them on one of Zuko’s shoulders. “Come here, let me fix you up, you dumbass.”

Zuko is about to make a joke, probably something about the number of firebenders currently in this alcove—but then Sokka’s warmed hands connect with his skin to gently cradle his jaw and his brain fizzles out with a pop, forcing from him instead an involuntarily loud hum of relief.

Sokka smiles, and it grows as Zuko’s eyes slip closed when he swipes his thumbs over chilled cheekbones. His hands slide down to settle on the sides of Zuko’s neck, and it does such an excellent job at trapping in the heat provided by the thick fur there that Zuko tips his head forward to push into them, nuzzling down so the sides of Sokka’s palms better press into the underside of his chin.

There’s a small laugh, and then the hands are moving again; up and around to burrow under Zuko’s hair and briefly touch fingertips on the back of his neck, before angling up and settling at the base of his skull.

Sokka absently scratches along his hairline, and Zuko has to physically stop himself from arching into his fingers in search for more. The empty cup in his hands is suddenly an essential thing, useless in providing any more warmth but perfect in grounding him, because he’s pretty sure his hands would otherwise be clenched tight in Sokka’s parka to keep himself upright.

The heat already isn’t as pronounced as when he started, ebbing instead to match Zuko’s own body temperature, but it doesn’t matter to him; his knees still wobble slightly and the muscles in his arms spasm in heady contentment purely from Sokka’s gentle touch. That familiar ache in his heart starts to bloom again, that quiet hazy yearning, but Zuko bats it away and tries to just enjoy this small, breathtaking moment of unreserved affection as much as he’s allowed.

He sighs, and very nearly misses it when Sokka softly asks, “helping?”

Zuko can only bring himself to languidly nod, and savor the feeling of being so fully held.

And they stand there like that, tucked away in the alcove and Zuko tucked into the beating warmth of Sokka’s hands. He buzzes with brimming heat; every brush of Sokka’s fingers through his hair or over his ears nourishes his inner flame and leaves him winded, his nerves tingling from exhilarating shock waves with each pass. Every small chuckle Sokka gives feels like a roaring fire, one that Zuko thinks would have no problem in encompassing his own to leave both of them blazing.

He wonders what it would feel like, for Sokka to take that tiny, final step forward and have that blinding warmth pressed so completely against him, until he’s burning in euphoria.

The sudden heaving howl of the wind as it surges by again startles them both. Sokka even more so, jumping with a long hiss as his back is pummeled with the passing squall. He crowds into Zuko’s space in an attempt to escape the onslaught until he’s forced to angle himself to prevent their faces from colliding, and Zuko’s hand jumps to his hip to steady him.

“Cold?” he asks, aiming for sarcasm. But he’s distracted by the sound and _feel_ of Sokka’s huffing and puffing right next to his temple, with his warm breath just teasing along the exposed line of his neck, that Zuko sounds more punched out than anything else.

“Shut up,” Sokka groans, his mouth so, so close to Zuko’s ear and—Zuko flushes deep, gulping down his gasp, and doesn’t think twice about dropping the cup into the pile of snow in the corner, followed by his gloves, before running his rapidly warming hands up the front of Sokka’s neck and back to cover the shaved part of his head.

Sokka’s delight is immediate, loud, and giddy.

The thankful laugh he nuzzles into the back of the hand still over Zuko’s ear reverberates throughout Zuko’s body and leaves his heart shaking. Unlike Sokka, his steady source of heat allows him to move restlessly; his hands roam all over, trying to chase away the cold from his cheeks, his nose, his ears, his entire neck and all over his hair. Sokka _melts_ , and doesn’t try hiding it; he sags against the soothing heat, and when Zuko smooths over his wolf tail to the crown of his head and back down to his neck, he eagerly rears back so Zuko can have an easier time of rubbing his thumbs along his bobbing Adam’s apple up to the point of his chin.

Sokka’s own hands have gone limp, fingers loosely wrapped around Zuko’s hair like a distant lifeline, and Zuko _loves_ it.

He taps his fingertips on Sokka’s jawline and the bottoms of his cheeks, riding out the quick shifts of his smile—it’s as if the beat of his heart is directing his mouth, flitting from a shy upturn of his lips to a full grin with teeth, and Zuko is entranced by the sight of such naked appreciation at his touch.

A sudden thought strikes him, a dizzyingly deep craving, and it makes Zuko’s hands jump off-tempo. He flounders, just for a second, before he carefully lifts Sokka’s chin up to make eye contact. His lidded gaze sparkles like his smile, and Zuko doesn’t look away; he watches as the initial shock of him gently, determinedly brushing his thumbs along Sokka’s top lip makes his eyes go wide, stares at how his mouth drops open into Zuko’s palms with a gasp when his bottom lip is slowly traced next. He sees when Sokka’s eyes fly down to his own lips, and Zuko feels like his entire body crackles with electricity as Sokka leans forward—

But then there’s a nearby call of “Fire Lord Zuko?”—and the moment snaps.

Sokka jerks, instinctively whipping his head around to place the call, and Zuko freezes, straightens up, and then freezes again. His hands fall to catch in the dangling furs on Sokka’s parka, while the fingers in his hair jump alive to tighten briefly before quickly pulling away. Zuko pitches forward without meaning to, not wanting to lose the feeling of Sokka’s hands even as they pull out of his hair, and the action makes Sokka turn back to him in amusement.

The look on his face is a little frantic, unbalanced, as if he’s still trying to recover, and his eyes keep flicking down to Zuko’s mouth, but he still has the sense to puff out a small laugh at Zuko’s obvious displeasure. With a teasing smile, he taps his thumb on Zuko’s left cheekbone, just underneath the dip of his eye, and Zuko so, _so_ badly wants to kiss that look straight off his face.

And then _keep_ kissing him, until Sokka’s grinning against his mouth, until they’re both breathless—until pulling away is nothing more than an intermission, before Zuko gets the chance to tug him right back to his lips again and again.

His hands clench around the furs in anticipation, and he contemplates whether a scowling peck would actually be the reprimand he’s looking for, or only count as an unsatisfactory first kiss.

(The thought of finding out what all kinds of kisses could mean for them both, that soon he really might get the chance to indulge in this new, exhilarating kind of intimate affection that he’s wanted for _so long_ , makes him shiver hard.)

Someone calls for him again, sounding even closer, and Sokka glances over his shoulder as he steps away, inviting space back between them. Zuko already misses his closeness and those hands, but he also misses the warmth that came with them because suddenly he’s hit with a shattering chill.

Sokka doesn’t waste a minute to work at his coat, readjusting the buttons and his hood so it closes more securely around his neck and—well, okay, Zuko can at least concentrate all of his focus on only missing Sokka’s touch now, since the wind has finally, _blessedly_ , been blocked from sneaking its way inside.

There’s another call—distressingly from Hakoda this time—but before Sokka pulls away, he rests his palms on Zuko’s chest and smiles, surprisingly, dazzlingly shy.

“Stop by my place tonight, after you’re done with everything?” he asks, soft and hopeful, and Zuko nods at him in thinly veiled wonder. He’s absolutely certain that his desire is still written all over his face.

Sokka’s smile soars in confidence. “Cool, awesome. Come on then.”

Zuko’s hand is grabbed, his gloves picked back up, and then he’s being tugged out of the alcove and back into the street, with one of Sokka’s arms slung snugly over his shoulders and looking completely unruffled as he waves down his dad. Once they’re close enough, he immediately launches into regaling everyone with his selflessly good deed of saving the Fire Lord from a frozen demise, and happily ignores Zuko’s exasperated rebukes.

There’s barely any heat behind his complaints though—Zuko’s trying hard to be polite and presentable, and to resolutely _stop_ thinking about Hakoda’s son while right in front of him, but he can’t quite keep the flush off his cheeks. He desperately hopes that everyone thinks it’s only from the force of the wind, or from finally being warm again—but he has an unfortunate feeling that everyone knows full well his red face is entirely from the way that Sokka’s fingers keep absentmindedly trailing up and down his arm as he boasts.

Hakoda takes one look at them, and pushes to continue the tour with an indulgent grin.

—

Zuko’s glad that Hakoda likes him, and that through their chief the rest of the group seems to just view him as some unspoken offspring offshoot, because at least the snatches of laughter bouncing around him and Sokka throughout the remainder of the tour sound as knowing and kind as Uncle’s always do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, trying so hard to not write zuko saying “the cold doesn’t bother me anyway” and only marginally succeeding…anyway lol
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! i have most of the second part written and should (fingers crossed) have it ready to post soon, so stay tuned!  
> -  
> if you want, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/leopardfringe) or [tumblr](https://chitsangenthusiast.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You’re really good at styling your hair then,” Sokka returns as he brushes. A remarkably easy observation, and yet it does more to tingle down Zuko’s spine than the tines of the comb do. He shifts a little, caught off guard by the compliment._
> 
> _“It’s not that impressive,” he mumbles. “Usually it’s just putting some of it up in a topknot to hold the crown.”_
> 
> _Sokka makes a noise behind him. “No, I mean when you do it for events or celebrations. You do more to it then, like with those little ornaments and jewelry things. It’s cute.”_
> 
> _“Oh."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> overjoyed for this second part to come out! this ended up being more of a tender beast to write than i anticipated lol
> 
> before we start, i want to credit those who have shared invaluable information on the inuit cultures that the water tribes were based on, and helped shape this chapter:  
> @mostly-mundane-atla on tumblr - ["the word for sinew is the same word for thread"](https://mostly-mundane-atla.tumblr.com/post/629854127951904768/hi-im-a-writer-and-i-found-your-blog-bc-of-the) (though i did end up making it that zuko knows what he means, since he visits and does what gran-gran says so much)  
> @atlaculture on tumblr - [katara's "hair loopies"](https://atlaculture.tumblr.com/post/625361026892922880/cultural-anatomy-hair-loopies) and [yue's hair](https://atlaculture.tumblr.com/post/637880936202141696/cultural-anatomy-yues-hair)  
> @shinanova on tiktok for her hair braiding videos, along with many others throughout the app!
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!  
> -  
>  _also, just a heads up that the 'implied/referenced child abuse' tag has been added! it's only for the first 7 paragraphs of the fic so if you would like to skip it after the first line, you can pick back up at "three weeks before he found aang"! ___

The thing about Zuko, which only his uncle knew, is that he grows his hair for more than tradition and expectations. 

—

Zuko remembers his father’s flames. Their searing heat, the confidence behind his grip.

He remembers the cruel pain in the arena—and the dizzying, seizing anguish afterward during a quick snatch of consciousness, when he could finally recognize what the rough drag over his scalp was for. Little care had been given to his bandages, or to the heavy tears he shed for having this, too, taken from him.

The next time he woke, it was to his discarded hair left on the floor next to his bed.

Over a decade later, and Zuko can still remember how many times it took him desperately crying out before anyone came to him. He had cried until he heaved and his blistered skin cracked, until his vision swam and it felt like he was being engulfed in fire all over again, because in that moment he understood.

A skin graft hadn’t been needed; he boarded his ship with still weeping skin, a desecrated scalp, and resolutely dry eyes.

Out of all the things packed for him, the razor was the first thing that found its place on his new bedside table.

He _understood_.

—

Three weeks before he found Aang, Zuko looked into the mirror and granted himself permission.

It was disrespectful, he knew, and the private show of arrogance preyed on his heart enough to make his hands tremble. But as he stared, Zuko couldn’t help but bask in the quiet comfort of calling it a phoenix tail again, just this once.

For the first night after three years, he emerged from his room with his head free of little haphazard cuts, and the persistent furrow between Uncle’s brows had finally cleared.

—

Sokka touches his hair with ease, without a second thought, and Zuko ignites.

With time, he starts to understand.

Sokka, he learns, does too.

— — —

The look on Sokka’s face as soon as he opens his door makes Zuko snap back before he can even open his mouth.

“Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Go on,” Sokka says, delightedly smug, “regale me with how you’re feeling right now.”

“Tired,” Zuko grouses, and glowers when he’s stopped from barging in by a grinning Sokka, who just wordlessly gestures for more. His smirk is insanely irritating, but also unfortunately infectious, and Zuko has to wipe at his mouth to push down his own smile threatening to break free. “Hungry,” he adds, and then more pointedly tacks on, “ _cold_.”

“No you’re not,” Sokka tuts, and cackles as the finger he digs into the side of Zuko’s arm gets slapped away. “Well, maybe two out of three. But cold is definitely _not_ one of them, sunshine.”

Zuko rolls his eyes and lets out an angry puff of air, but says nothing in response. Despite his frazzled hair and flushed face, his easy stance and loose limbs betray him; he looks for all the world like he’s just stepped out of the guest house rather than having spent the entire day outside. Even his crown piece seems to have sagged from the warm relief of being properly bundled for the weather, with how it’s slightly askew in his mussed topknot.

Actually, Sokka thinks, Zuko makes for a rather pretty picture like this, out on his doorstep in his too-light coat and poorly concealed gratification.

He’s still got that tepid scowl on his face, but the fire inside flickers over Sokka’s shoulder to play with the gold flecks in his eye and smooth over the curves of his cheekbones, revealing the rising emotion there—seconds later Zuko cracks, and the whisper of a smile finally overtakes his features. It’s just a tight uptick of the corner on his right side, with his lips pushed out the tiniest bit from pressing his tongue against the back of them, but it’s the type of smile Sokka likes getting the most.

His appreciation must be obvious then, if he’s being gifted with the delightful image of what Zuko looks like right before he’s willing to accept a compliment.

Sokka smiles back, and steps aside to invite him in.

“I definitely thought you were going to tear it off once we ended up back at the city center.”

“I wanted to,” Zuko chuckles, but it comes out more like a groan. “But then we spent the rest of the day at the fishing docks, and I didn’t feel like burning myself in the foot by messing with the coat.” He does now though; fingers fly over the coat buttons and his boot laces so he can toss everything off in the entryway, before stretching his arms straight up and back with a hum, obviously happy in having his full range of motion back.

Sokka watches as the crown piece gets flicked onto his center table, and snorts. “Then you’re _welcome_ for me intervening to save you before you went out there. Otherwise we would’ve had to ship you back home as an ice block and wait for you to thaw out—” he stills suddenly, and snaps his fingers together in devious excitement— “ _wait_ , that could be our next export! Selling Fire Lordsicles!”

He gets a brutally judgmental look thrown back at him in response. “That’s stupid, Sokka. There’s only one of me.”

“Royalsicles,” Sokka easily amends.

Zuko scoffs and turns away, choosing instead to try to tame the windblown disaster of his hair than pay attention to Sokka. “You’re so annoying. How would you even convince anyone from the Fire Nation to come down here? They’d hate the cold.”

“I thought you fire lot could handle it though?” Sokka needles, and snickers when he succeeds in getting Zuko to glare at him again. “Maybe I’ll just keep refreezing you then, since _you_ seem to have no issue in visiting all the time.”

Zuko pauses, and very carefully keeps his gaze trained on the cracking fire even as he’s dragged down to the pelts around the pit, before he finally, quietly says, “Yeah, well, I have incentive to come.”

Sokka’s pulse fires up, and he can feel the heat bleeding into his cheeks. Zuko plants his elbows on the table and presses his hands tight over the curve of his jawline and his ears, as if to warm them up, but Sokka can see his bright flush peeking out over his fingers. He breathes out a small laugh, and decides to act.

Throwing all of his weight against Zuko’s side, he buries his head hard into his shoulder—just to be annoying, of course, _not_ at all to hide his rapid heartbeat—and hums in thought. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I promise I won’t let you freeze and sell you off to make a quick buck.”

“Thank you, that’s all I could ever hope for,” Zuko returns, calculatingly polite as he spares a glance Sokka’s way. “Your benevolence is very appreciated, Councilman Sokka.”

Sokka’s nose immediately wrinkles. “Ew, don’t Fire Lord at me in my own home.”

Zuko chuckles and Sokka looks up to watch, only to straighten at the view. With his scarred eye shut completely and only a sliver of gold peeking out from the other, he seems tired but content, and a rush of heady warmth makes Sokka’s vision briefly swirl. He takes his fill of looking, eyes tracing along the slope of Zuko’s nose, the ridges of his scar, and the slight part of his mouth as he lets out soft sleepy breaths.

“You didn’t have to come over if you’re tired, you know. I would’ve understood,” he says, with only a hint of wonder. Zuko doesn’t say anything, but his lips do quirk up in amusement. Angling his head so his ear sits more comfortably in his palm, he turns and stares right back.

Sokka thinks he may need to rethink his private ranking of his favorite Zuko smiles.

And this one’s going _straight_ to first place.

Eventually though, he rolls his eyes and pointedly taps two fingers against the back of one of Zuko’s hands.

“Hello? Attention to hotman,” he calls, ducking a little to catch Zuko’s gaze and force him back into the conversation. It works; he straightens up with a few firm blinks, then tries hard to appear like he wasn’t about to fall asleep at the table. Sokka snorts. “Hey, stop tuning me out and go to bed. You look like you’re dead on your ass right now.”

Zuko just groans at him. “Leave me alone, I’m trying to warm my ears back up.”

“A whole firebender,” Sokka says in disbelief, “sitting in front of a whole fire, and you’re telling me your ears are _still_ cold? Are you seriously not warm yet?”

“I _am_ warm.” Zuko doesn’t bother in keeping his eyes open anymore. He closes them with an annoyed huff and nestles himself into his palms. “It just feels nice.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you need, bud,” Sokka laughs. Zuko scrunches his brow, and decides to ignore him.

But then the sound of shifting fabric makes him look over, just in time to see Sokka reaching out with open hands and a fond smile. The pads of his fingers slide underneath the line of Zuko’s jaw until they’re stopped by his own hands, and after a persistent poke, he drops them so that Sokka can push his palms over the curve of his head. Thumbs rest against his earlobes, fingers digging gently into his phoenix tail, and Zuko sucks in a breath.

“Sokka—”

He hums, and lightly sways Zuko’s head from side to side. “Does this help?”

It’s different this time, weightier, far more intimate, but Zuko freezes against Sokka’s hands for only seconds before he sighs and sinks into the touch. “Yeah. How are you so warm? Your hands feel like mine on a normal day back home.”

“Well, I _have_ been inside for the whole evening,” Sokka replies, and grins at the disgruntled look he gets. “One of these days you’re going to finally listen to me when I tell you that growing up here means I run hotter to stay warm.”

“Stop stealing my thing,” Zuko grumbles. He’s pretty proud of how quickly he could come up with literally any response while essentially turning to goo in those hands, especially when he’s rewarded with another of Sokka’s deep laughs.

“Sure, consider me like a frozen firebender, except _way_ cooler than any regular firebender.” Sokka chuckles at his own joke as he lightly drags his nails over Zuko’s scalp, and then really starts laughing because— “ _Ha!_ Get it? Cooler? Because I’m from the Water Nation? Hey—”

Zuko makes sure his groan is loud enough to drown out anything else Sokka tries to say. “Agni, you’re so _lame.”_

He falls back in an attempt to get away, but a few of the fingers in his hair get caught in a tangle that he didn’t bother to get rid of, and his head yanks from the accidental trap. With a yelp, his hands shoot up to latch onto Sokka’s wrist. “Okay, _ow_.”

“Sorry!” Sokka rushes, and scoots closer so he can wiggle his fingers free. “But dude, you seriously need to comb this. It’s a _mess._ ”

“Yeah, because _you_ made it a mess,” Zuko complains. Feeling out the state of his hair, he just sighs in defeat and carefully tries to remove his ribbon without pulling on any more strands. “The wind totally fucked it up, and I’m pretty sure tucking it into the hood after that just made it worse.”

“Yup, nope, it definitely didn’t help.” Sokka winces in sympathy when one tug on the ribbon looks particularly painful, and he gets up to grab a comb. “Here, let me help.”

Zuko sighs out a thank you, but when he reaches out to take it, Sokka just shoos him away and plops down behind him. Zuko peeks back over his shoulder at him in surprise.

“Uhm,” he says, and repeats it far more indignantly when Sokka pushes his head forward and begins gathering up his knotted hair. “I can brush my own hair, Sokka.”

In all the years that he’s fiddled with it, Sokka has never offered to actually _do_ anything with his hair. The thought of him taking care of it for Zuko sends his heart racing.

“Course you can,” Sokka says. He grabs a handful about halfway down Zuko’s back and starts to work the comb through the tangles below his fist. “But doesn’t it feel nice to have someone else do it? Wait, do you do your own hair back home?”

Zuko fights against his hold to shoot him a hard glare. “Uh, _yeah._ It’s my hair, why would I need anyone else to do that?”

“Huh. Interesting.”

He sounds as if he wasn’t actually expecting that answer, and Zuko twists around even more to look at him in offense. Sokka just rolls his eyes and pushes on his cheek to get him to face forward again. “Hey, it’s a valid question! I thought it was a thing for royalty to have royal hairdressers or whatever nonsense to help you guys get ready.”

Zuko thinks about all the attendants he _did_ have when he was younger, and then thinks about the last time his hair had been handled by anyone other than his uncle. He crosses his arms. “Yeah, well. Not me.”

“You’re really good at styling your hair then,” Sokka returns as he brushes. A remarkably easy observation, and yet it does more to tingle down Zuko’s spine than the tines of the comb do. He shifts a little, caught off guard by the compliment.

“It’s not that impressive,” he mumbles. “Usually it’s just putting some of it up in a topknot to hold the crown.”

Sokka makes a noise behind him. “No, I mean when you do it for events or celebrations. You do more to it then, like with those little ornaments and jewelry things. It’s cute.”

“Oh.”

Zuko’s face flushes, and his palms warm. With his inability to keep his hands to himself, it makes sense that Sokka knows his different hairstyles, but Zuko never expected him to actually remember them, let alone find them— _cute_. His pulse stutters, and he fumbles to think of a good response. “Uh, your hair always looks nice too. I like the braids.”

Sokka chuckles at the attempt, and runs a hand from the crown of Zuko’s head down his neck to stifle any instinctive prickling before he digs his thumbs underneath the bulk of hair and hefts it up in his fist. Zuko shivers at the drag of fingers over his skin, and again when the free hand rests on the back of his neck, with a pinky poking just under the collar of his tunic.

“I could braid your hair, if you wanted,” Sokka says, idly tracing his nails along the bottom of Zuko’s hairline. “Your hair’s thick enough that it would probably save you a lot of tears while you’re here.”

“I thought braids had special meanings in the Water Tribe. Wouldn’t that be weird while I’m here?” Zuko asks, and forces his eyes to stay open despite the pleasant sensation of those fingers playing over him.

Sokka lets out a small laugh and shifts closer. He needs to spread his legs apart more, with one knee resting on each side of Zuko’s hips so that he can sit comfortably, and Zuko zeroes in on the feeling of being anchored between his thighs. “Yeah, but braiding your hair to keep it out of your face isn’t unique to us. It’s usually just the smaller braids around the face that signify anything.”

Zuko leans back, just a little, to better soak up Sokka’s warmth, and he hums. “What do yours mean?”

“You know what they mean,” Sokka says with a smile. But when Zuko just turns to look curiously at him, his eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, are you serious? You don’t know?”

“No?” Zuko’s right eye squints in confusion. “I know about the wolf tail thing, but I never knew the braids meant anything. Uncle was the one who finally told me they did.”

Sokka’s surprise makes him drop Zuko’s hair so that he can sprawl sidelong him, curling his body around one of Zuko’s crossed legs and leaning on his hands so he can get a better look at his face. His hip digs into the side of Zuko’s thigh like this, and Zuko’s gaze drops to take in all the points where they’re connected. “ _Really_? Does Iroh know what they mean?”

Zuko shrugs. “I don’t think so, otherwise he probably would’ve talked about it. Uncle wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to educate like that.”

“That makes sense,” Sokka nods absently. He looks at Zuko like he’s in thought rather than actually seeing him. “They can mean different things to different tribes, depending on where the braids are and what they look like. Have I really _never_ told you what they’re for?”

Zuko glances down at the hand that now rests on his leg and laughs, a little breathlessly. “No you haven’t. For a while after my coronation, you would just show up with a new one. Katara too, although I did eventually find out her new style is because she’s married.”

Sokka smiles, and taps a thumb against his knee. “Yeah, that one’s true. She’s always liked her hair loopies though, so she kept those. Hold on—”

Suddenly, he hoists himself up so he can crawl around to sit back in front of Zuko, and scoots close enough that his knees have to rest on top of Zuko’s for them both to have enough room. Having him and his smile here and so incredibly close—distantly, Zuko thinks about how he wouldn’t have to lean very far if he wanted to kiss Sokka right now, and he gets a little lightheaded at the thought.

He— _they_ had been so close earlier.

“Okay, let me start off by saying that not only can braid meanings differ by location, but they can also change based on your role in the community,” Sokka says, and then gives a self-conscious shrug. “Sometimes it’s a gender thing too, like with Katara’s marriage braids, but you’ll see more of that up North.”

Zuko swallows down his urge and gives a quick nod.

“Hair loopies are really common for girls everywhere, though if you’re a princess or hold some high position they can end up being more elaborate.” Sokka frowns, lightening quick, before continuing. “Men usually have simpler braids on our right side, since we usually keep our hair up in our wolf tails until we decide to grow it out.”

He points at his first braid in his wolf tail, the one that starts closest to his right temple. “Becoming an adult in my village gets you a braid. After a while, people can choose whether they want to keep wearing it, but a lot of people like to leave it in.”

Sokka then runs a finger down his second one, and absently clacks his nails on the beads threaded throughout. “We’re big on community and what we do for each other, so the second one can signify things like our roles. Warriors put bands in to highlight that, and I know some of the healers here have started using a new type of rock to make beads for their braids.”

“People can do whatever they want with their hair. Sometimes they only wear one braid or more or none at all—it’s up to them, although you’ll usually see people’s hair done up for events and things. I guess it can probably be confusing for someone who’s not used to seeing them, but it’s pretty cool to see how people like to show off their tribes.” He smiles, but then his lips purse in thought. “Although if you have an important role like my dad, you usually just keep them in all the time. Dad’s braids have warrior _and_ chief bands, which are important to him and us.”

Suddenly, he winks at Zuko. “Though the lighter blue sinew in his hair is for Bato.”

Zuko flushes, and clears his throat so he can quickly get out, “what’s the third one for?”

Sokka grins, and tugs the band out of his hair so it falls around his face. He ruffles it a little to shake it out, the beads lightly clacking together, and sweeps it over one of his shoulders. Zuko admires the length; it’s arguably as long as his, though the waves make it appear shorter, and it’s thick enough to completely hide Sokka’s shaved sides unless he moves it around. He looks handsome like this, strangely vulnerable with his hair down, and Zuko always feels fortunate at the fact that he gets to see this sight as often as he does.

Sokka works at his hair to carefully pull the first braid free and holds it in front of his face. With it out of the wolf tail, Zuko can better see the line of colorful wraps on it.

“So, adulthood braid.” He then picks up the other two braids and waves them one at a time in Zuko’s direction. “My second one is the same as my dad where it’s for my warrior status, just without the chief beads, and the third one honors my respected achievements for the community.”

At this, Zuko’s eyebrow rises in intrigue. He thinks of everything Sokka’s done that could end up being commemorated in a braid—and comes to the conclusion that there’s not nearly enough hair on his head for all of them. “Is that one that people work to get then? Like a prestige thing?”

Sokka laughs and leans forward so he can brush the ends of his braids against Zuko’s nose. “No, not really. This one’s because of the things I’ve invented, but people can get them for anything, and even then it’s still up to them if they want to wear it.”

His hand is swatted away, and Sokka grins as he keeps explaining. “Signifying braids aren’t really like medals. It’s more of a respect thing, to recognize people in the community. And I really only wear my three braids because Dad wears two, and as the son of the chief I want to look different.” He shrugs, then gives a ferociously smug smirk and leans in closer to say, “besides, I’m a respectable guy.”

Zuko just huffs and pushes Sokka and his ego away from him. “Respectable people tend to be modest about their achievements, you know.”

“And I’m _modestly_ explaining why I deserve to show off!” Sokka crows, happily waving away Zuko’s complaint, “I deserve all three of my braids!”

“You’re going to end up with a head full of them then, apparently,” Zuko snarks back, inadvertently voicing his admiration, and Sokka laughs.

“That’s why we have hair ornaments,” he sings. “Ones for family members, ones for war or trade achievements, and ones for all of my other _extensive_ list of achievements!”

Zuko ignores Sokka’s second dumb attempt at self-flattery. “Family members?”

“Oh, yeah. The first braid is also for that.” The braid is picked back up so he can point at each band as he lists people. “Gran-Gran’s bead at the bottom, dad’s, mom’s, and then Katara’s. The wraps are for Bato and Aang—”

“Aang?”

“Uh,” Sokka pauses in judgmental surprise, “yeah? Remember when he married Katara? That makes him part of my family?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Zuko snaps, but he can’t take his eyes off the dark orange yarn wrapped in Sokka’s hair. It stands out in stark relief against the other varying shades of blue, and suddenly—embarrassingly, Zuko swells with jealousy at how the orange can look a little red, if he squints his eye. “So it’s also a family thing, and you can keep adding to it?”

Sokka’s fingers lightly run from the top of the braid and down, over each wrap and bead, and twists the end between the spaces of his fingers before letting it go. Zuko recognizes the habit; it’s something he does often when he’s lost in thought, even when it’s up in his wolf tail, and he startles at the revelation of the weight behind it.

His eyes jump to the bare stretch of braid above Aang’s spot, and he burns in wondering.

“Do friends ever get a bead or…anything?” He asks, quietly.

It seems to be a good question, because Sokka tilts his head as he considers the thought. His eyes jump away from Zuko’s after he asks though, and he chews on his lip the longer he thinks. “Probably, for some families? We…don’t though, which is why Bato and Aang didn’t get a place until they married in.”

Zuko deflates, and then immediately tries to hide it. He’s not sure why he’s so disappointed in the answer, since it doesn’t look like Toph or Suki are represented either, but—

Sokka tugs lightly on some of the hair that’s escaped to fall down his front, and smiles. “Don’t tell Katara, but Gran-Gran kinda hates it that Aang’s bald.”

Zuko jerks in surprise. “ _What_?”

“Like, she gets it because he’s an airbender and that’s their thing, but she’s constantly complaining about how nice he’d look with a head full of braids around his arrow.” Sokka sighs and fondly rolls his eyes. “I swear she’s totally in love with the idea.”

“Aang could get a braid?”

Sokka’s grin settles back down into a soft smile. “Yeah, he could. His bands would look a little different though.”

“Because he married in?”

Sokka—pauses, and eyes trail all over Zuko’s face. He starts to rock himself slightly, with his knees rhythmically pressing into Zuko’s own, as if he’s trying to decide what his next move should be. His hand eventually drifts to the hair on Zuko’s left side so he can pull out more over his shoulder, and he slowly cards his fingers through the long length. “That, but he could get one even before he and Katara got married if he wanted. Partners can wear one, even if they’re not Water Tribe.”

He does one last slow drag through Zuko’s hair before bringing a finger up to rest it against his left temple, next to the edge of his scar. “It’s usually a single braid here on this side of the head.”

Zuko stops breathing. “Y-yeah?”

Sokka’s gaze seems stuck on where his finger is, and he nods distractedly. But then he picks up the hair there and starts to carefully section out three smaller strands. His fingers go back to running through them afterward, taking care to keep the groupings separated. 

“Usually,” he begins, and Zuko has to lean in to better hear him, “when a braid is being done by someone else, the braider will think about positive thoughts so they can get woven in. Lover’s braids are the same way, except the focus is on their partner and the relationship, and any wishes for their future as a way to strengthen their bond. It’s kinda a selfish thing, honestly, but it’s sort of something we’ve always done—it’s like betrothal necklaces up North I guess, except this is more like for dating. Once people get married though, the braid usually switches over into a family braid.”

As he talks, Sokka’s hand eventually comes to a stop until he’s just holding the three sections in his palm. After a moment, in a controlled act of nonchalance, he starts slowly braiding Zuko’s hair.

He doesn’t look over to see Zuko’s reaction, instead watching his progress to make sure the braid starts off well, though Zuko isn’t sure if this is necessary or just deliberate—all he knows is that he doesn’t like it. He desperately wants Sokka’s eyes on him, to get a full view of what might be hiding within and see if Sokka is suddenly having just as much trouble keeping his nerves calm as he is.

“Like?” His voice doesn’t seem loud enough to even fill the small space between them, but he knows he was still heard from the way Sokka jumps. He’s looking then, staring straight at Zuko with a blush rising high on his cheeks and his hands twisting just out of Zuko’s periphery.

“Thoughts like?” he presses.

“Like—” Sokka clears his throat. “Like…giving thanks for their health, and a wish for them to stay strong and healthy, both today and every day after. To share that strength in the relationship, like I—the braider will too, to weather any obstacles and be supported in their life path with a steady hand and heart behind them. To acknowledge their patience, with the hope that they always remember to give that to themselves, to each other, and to their community.”

He stumbles over his words at first, but then gains confidence. They sound like they’re familiar to Sokka, as if they’re safe territory, but Zuko’s body erupts in excitement anyway; he sparks from the top of his head, where he can feel the start of the braid moving at his temple, and down through his fingers and toes. His hands bury themselves into his tunic to ground himself.

Sokka shifts and cocks his head, and the intensity in his expression makes Zuko’s mouth go dry. “To know that their love and commitment is known, honored, and returned. That this—the braider takes pride in their love and kindness, and…declares that they will carry this privilege with them for the rest of their life.”

Without meaning to, Zuko chokes on a gasp. These sentiments don’t seem to have been performed before.

“This braid, and these thoughts, are a testament to our— _their_ unity, their dedication to themselves and each other, and that—” Sokka pauses to suck in a deep, rattling breath. He almost sounds like he’s about to burst, as he stares into Zuko. “That you know how much the braider really does love you back.”

Zuko feels like he’s falling, like he’s soaring, like he wants to reach out in return, but is too overwhelmed to even think of where to start.

When Sokka gets close to running out of hair to braid, he pinches it at the end to keep it from unraveling, and then seems to flounder. His face is completely flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, and he keeps bouncing his gaze from Zuko’s quietly stunned face and back to the braid. He’s biting his lip too, and Zuko tracks how his teeth indent into his bottom lip with blistering yearning.

Finally, Sokka moves the braid for Zuko to see.

He inhales sharply, and Sokka clears his throat again.

“I—when they’re done, the braid can be secured with some sinew or a bead. It’s up to the couple, really, but then—” Sokka moves it out his line of sight, and Zuko shivers at the feeling of the rest of his hair being swept back before the braid is carefully tucked behind his scarred ear. He’s frozen, stuck staring at the high point of Sokka’s cheekbones, and his mouth falls open a little when Sokka rests his wrist on his shoulder and doesn’t let go of the braid.

“Putting it behind the ear signifies new love. It’s a promise, to treasure the new relationship and protect it, this way.”

Heavy silence then falls over them, with the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and the soft creaking of ice settling in the nighttime cold. Sokka still hasn’t looked away from the braid or his hand, staring at it in open amazement, and Zuko—

Zuko feels unmoored.

He thinks back, all those years ago, to those scant moments after his coronation where he allowed himself a chance to breathe. Sitting in that fading candlelight, he had thought about what peace could look like for him, after he righted enough wrongs to feel like he was finally making progress. He imagined, sometimes, how easily his happiness could come in the form of seeing leather gloves tossed on his desk, or possibly from a breezy laugh pressed against his cheek, or—especially, from a pair of confident and weirdly-tanned hands slipping into his own.

He had dreamed then, sucked underneath private desires of wanting to find out all the places his own hands could be welcomed, from sliding up strong arms and shoulders, to running through curling hair, to finally learning what those smiles felt like underneath his fingers.

As he stares at Sokka, and he stares at the braid, Zuko realizes that no, he feels _tethered_.

Sokka makes him feel like he’s allowed to be selfish.

And those hands hold in them the unshakable knowledge that he won’t ever be turned away.

He reaches out without a second thought, teasing out the hair at Sokka’s left temple to begin sectioning it into three strands. Sokka jerks, his wrist even bouncing on Zuko’s shoulder, and he rears back like he’s suddenly crashed back into the moment. Zuko falls with him to keep the hair in his hands slack without letting go, and he starts to braid.

The muscles in his fingers spasm every time they brush against Sokka’s face, and he now understands why Sokka couldn’t look at him when he had first started. Zuko feels like he’s stumbling, his hands just as clumsy as the tidal wave of thoughts he tries to wade through. There’s so much bottled up, so much he can’t hold onto anymore, so much he wants to share—

“Hair is really important to us,” Sokka finally breathes out, and he sounds awed. “Not anyone can really touch it, unless they have good intentions.”

Zuko’s hands freeze in their weaving, and he flushes hot in embarrassment. “Should I not—”

“It’s not fair,” Sokka murmurs, “that you got to hear mine, and I can’t hear yours.”

“ _Sokka_ ,” Zuko shakes out. Everything he’s ever wanted to say rushes to his tongue. “I—you—Sokka, there’s—you make me feel like I can handle _anything_ , even when other people try to push back against the things I want to do, and I love it—I want to be there for you like that too. You make me feel better than Appa—wait, no I mean that you make me feel like I’m _flying_ , and it’s better than any trip I’ve taken on Appa—”

Zuko lets out a shuddering exhale and tries to reorient himself. His mouth is running faster than his mind, and it’s making him frustrated. Sokka’s words had come so naturally, seemingly without any need to rehearse them; Zuko feels like he definitely should have practiced saying his thoughts out loud more, so that he wasn’t getting so stuck in the jumble of trying to share all them at once.

“I like you so much—you’re so _smart_ too, that it’s kinda frustrating sometimes how you can take one look at something and see all of its potential so quickly. And then your tangents—even when you’re complaining, I know it just means you’re passionate about it. Although I never understand half of the things you say but I don’t care, because I like seeing how excited you get anyway. I _like_ being that person you can come to, and I always want it to be like that. And your _voice_ —I like that I can make you laugh so hard until you do those weird high-pitched hiccups when trying to catch your breath—okay, that sounds like I’m making fun of you, but I’m not. I want to hear that sound every day for the rest of my life—”

Despite the still mystified look on his face, Sokka starts to snicker softly, and all of Zuko’s confidence goes up in smoke.

With a long groan, he flops forward to hide into the back of his hands still in Sokka’s hair. “Don’t you _dare_ start laughing.”

“Oh? But I thought you liked the sound of me laughing?”

“Not when it’s at _me_ ,” Zuko moans, and knocks his forehead against Sokka’s clavicle when he hears him stifle a snort. “Shut _up_.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m always laughing at you,” Sokka genially says, and retaliates by rubbing his chin into Zuko’s cheek. “And hey, I’m just… _admiring_ your natural skill in giving speeches! You should give me pointers.”

“I hate you. So much.” Without lifting his head to expose his red face, Zuko blows a hard gust of heated air into the curve of Sokka’s neck. “I’m trying.”

“I know, I know!” Sokka actually does let loose a laugh this time, and grins at the deep frown he gets when he lifts Zuko’s head up. “You’re doing good for your first try! Don’t stop!”

Zuko glares at him. “I’m starting over.”

He moves to hook a finger into the top of the braid to unravel it, but before he can Sokka snatches his hand up with a loud noise of complaint, and firmly brings it back down to where he had left off braiding. “Uh yeah, absolutely _not_. You’re doing just fine _,_ Zuko, I mean it. Keep going.”

“Except I’m messing it up.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but his smirk is impossibly affectionate as he smooths his thumb over Zuko’s knuckles.

“I like it,” he says. “Besides, this isn’t the only time you’ll get to do this. You’ll get more practice at it, don’t worry.”

Zuko’s heart trips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sokka breathes. “You’re not getting rid of me any time soon, Zuko.”

The fire deep within his core flares throughout his body, and Zuko _ignites_.

“Do you have any yarn?”

He says it before he even registers what’s coming out of his mouth, and he only catches on from the way Sokka suddenly looks like he’s dangling in shock. He winces, and waits for the second flash of embarrassment to hit—that feeling where he’s pushed too fast and without thought again, leaving him wishing he could rewind time—but it never comes.

Sokka seems to simmer in the depths of the question, as if he’s turning over every word and syllable to piece it together in a way that makes sense. Zuko knows that’s how he works; Sokka thinks, while he dives in headfirst. He’s gotten better at it, from all the years of being the Fire Lord and having a master strategist as his best friend, but there are still times when he indulges himself in his innate need to just snap into action.

Zuko figures that this, certainly, can be one of those moments.

He guides Sokka; wraps his fingers around the wrist still holding onto the braid in his hair, nestles their joined hands into his neck, and he asks again. “Sokka, do you have any yarn?”

Sokka _overflows_ with joy.

He grins wide, his eyes crinkle so hard they’re close to shutting, he _giggles_ , and he darts forward to cradle Zuko’s jaw and press the sweet sound of his glee into his temple, right next to the start of the braid. Swallowing down a relieved gasp, Zuko drinks in his elation and reaches out to touch too. He revels in how he can rub his hand up Sokka’s side and his neck, where he can feel the thrumming beat of Sokka’s pulse point under his thumbs, and he exhales hard at the absolute satisfaction that fires through him.

Suddenly, Sokka pulls away, looking frantic as he whips his head around to search the room.

“Babe,” he says, easy as daylight, and the cascading swell of delight buzzing in Zuko’s ears nearly drowns out anything else he says. “Shit, I don’t have any nearby!”

Zuko rasps out a laugh, and lets the hand not holding onto his own braid fall to rest on Sokka’s chest. “The thread? Sokka, it’s okay. Can’t we just get some—”

It only takes Sokka a fraction of a second to cast a glance down at his shirt and scrutinize it, before he’s picking up one of the hanging tassels there. He jams the bead at the end between his teeth and yanks his head up, snapping it free, and Zuko watches, stunned, as Sokka carefully picks at the freed yarn from his shirt until it’s a long piece left on his leg.

He then takes the bead from his mouth and holds it up.

There’s a pause, where he seems to turn suddenly bashful, and he only briefly meets Zuko’s gaze before he closes his eyes. Bringing the bead back to his lips, he gives it a quick kiss.

The heat of Zuko’s blush leaves him feeling like he’s pinned underneath it.

Though considering how bright Sokka’s own cheeks are, he’s comforted to the point of almost giddiness in knowing he’s at least not alone.

“Okay,” Sokka says. He takes a moment to thread the bead through Zuko’s hair to rest it at the base of the braid, and then picks the yarn off his thigh. “Zuko, help me out here. Usually all of this is prepared beforehand so it’s not as awkward, and we’re kinda doing this _totally_ backwards, but whatever. Here, wrap this around my fingers a couple of times.”

Zuko’s hand shakes terribly, but he does as Sokka asks and loosely wraps the yarn around his two pointer fingers.

“That’s good,” Sokka whispers, and then—with a deep breath, he raises his bound fingers and presses his lips to the back of them. This time, he doesn’t look away or close his eyes, and Zuko’s breath stutters at the shining wave of emotion that peeks through his half-lidded gaze.

Sokka pulls his fingers away long enough to explain, “doing this to seal my commitment,” before he goes back to placing tiny kisses all over the yarn. He seems lost in it; like he’s trying to kiss so much more than every wish and hope that was already woven into the braid, and the sight is so surprisingly sweet that it makes Zuko’s eyes prick.

After a final lingering kiss, he brings his fingers to Zuko’s lips, and Sokka’s nerves overwhelm his voice when he asks, “Now, you?”

A burst of sparks fire off in Zuko’s stomach as he looks down at the yarn. They haven’t yet shared a single kiss—or even a conversation on what it would mean to date at this point in their lives, to evolve their friendship and their touches into something much more. But Sokka is looking at him with such strong, unwavering adoration that, right now, Zuko can’t care to think about anything other than the fingers in front of him.

Gently holding the wrist in his hand, he tucks his thumb over the rest of Sokka’s fingers, and leans in to kiss the yarn and the skin around it.

The immediate gasp from Sokka is so loud, it startles Zuko into glancing up at him.

He’s fallen closer, as if in an aborted attempt to bring Zuko into his own kiss, and the look on his face makes Zuko pull back a little, overwhelmed—his breath hitches then, when Sokka’s eyes fall down to his mouth.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Zuko rushes forward to place a firm kiss onto Sokka’s fingers, shoving in every thought and hope and all of those enduring desires he’s ever had right into that navy blue thread.

He thinks about how he can draw Sokka’s smile from memory—and has, over and over. He recalls all the nights where he stared across his bed and dragged his hand over the empty spot next to him, wondering if Sokka would be fine with red pillows or if he’d prefer blue. He recounts how many times Sokka has touched him, how many times he’s touched his hair, how many times he’s wanted to pull Sokka in and kiss him, deep and _endless_.

Zuko shares it all.

When he finally pulls away to catch his breath, he’s strangely exhausted in the most exhilarating way. He looks up for what to do next, but the tenderness in Sokka’s grin leaves his heart stuttering. It’s contagious, like his happiness always is, and Zuko feels his own lips stretch into a warm smile.

Sokka shifts—Zuko finds that he’s practically forced himself half into his lap, with Sokka’s free hand curled around his thigh to stabilize him—and he carefully maneuvers the yarn through the hole in the bead, then begins wrapping it around Zuko’s hair. With every pass of it around the braid, Sokka’s smile gets bigger and bigger, until he’s nearly vibrating by the time he secures the bead and knots the yarn. Then, with a reverent hand, he gently tucks the braid back behind Zuko’s ear and lets go.

As he fixes his hair back to how it naturally falls, Zuko feels more the brush of it against his neck and collarbone than he does against his scarred ear, but he can still sense the weight of the braid there, and he loves it all the same.

“Sokka,” he says, and chokes out a happy noise when Sokka’s eyes flit to his. Suddenly, he’s hit with a ridiculous urge—it’s definitely not the right time, he knows, and will probably ruin the floating sensation of the moment, but none of that stops Zuko from still raising his brow and teasing in false astonishment, “since when were you such a hopeless poet?”

And Sokka’s face undergoes a flurry of emotions; his mouth drops open in shock as his face scrunches in exasperated disbelief, seemingly too affronted to give a proper answer, but then he’s laughing, both into Zuko’s face and the space between them, loud and astounded and _happy_. His hands fly up to cup Zuko’s jaw in his hands with an amused shake of his head, and then he pulls Zuko forward into a kiss.

Zuko gasps, hard, and falls into the blazing feeling of Sokka’s lips on his.

There’s no hesitancy in it; Sokka kisses him like a dam has broken, like he’s finally getting the chance to indulge in something that has been kept from him for so long. Zuko can taste his desperation as well as his devotion, and he can only hope that Sokka feels how much he also burns, all the way up from his inner fire and into their kiss.

An arm wraps around his waist to pull him in even closer, until he’s pressed tight against Sokka and the staccato beat of his heart, as the first kiss melts into the next and then more after. Zuko never wants it to stop; he wants to keep going, with his mouth perfectly fit against Sokka’s, until he loses count of how many kisses have been shared between them.

He loves the feeling of Sokka’s stubble scratching along his bottom lip and his cheeks, and he loves the firm, confident shift of Sokka’s mouth against his—fuck, he loves _Sokka_.

Their near kiss earlier wouldn’t have been like this, Zuko realizes.

When they had both finally recognized what was happening between them, they had enjoyed the teasing thrill of teetering just on the edge of naming what they were—but there hadn’t been _understanding_ like there is now, where Zuko knows as well as breathing how much Sokka really cares and loves and _wants_.

He gives so much passion, like a part of him is still somehow afraid that Zuko is going to pull away, even after everything. His lips are an unrelenting force that leaves Zuko clutching on for dear life, and he eagerly rises to the challenge to give just as much back, to make damn sure Sokka _knows_ too.

The first, fleeting lick against Sokka’s mouth forces from him a dizzying gasp—every single one of Zuko’s nerves sing from the noise, and he does it again and again between his kisses, hand clenched tight in Sokka’s hair, until those lips part and Zuko can dive in to take his fill. He moans at the slide of Sokka’s tongue against his, and kisses him even deeper when he starts to feel a rising grin against his lips.

Even through his clothes, Zuko can feel the searing heat of his touch, across his back and in his hair. It’s sweet, it’s intoxicating, it’s _anchoring_ , to be so held like this.

They can barely pull themselves away from each other before they fall back in for more—one more kiss, one more smile pressed into the other’s cheek, one more giddy laugh shared between their mouths—but eventually, as Zuko brushes his hand over the stubble on Sokka’s jaw while catching his breath, he catches sight of his fingers still pinched around his own braid in Sokka’s hair.

His happy hum breaks into a grin, and he rubs his fingers around the start of it. “Do I get to do the same thing for yours?”

Sokka _shines_ at that, looking so thrilled that he firmly kisses Zuko again just to release some of his excitement, and he continues trailing smiling kisses all over his face as he yanks free another tassel on his shirt to drop it into Zuko’s waiting palm. His hands settle on Zuko’s waist, but they don’t stay there for long.

With him sitting in his lap, Sokka can reach everywhere. His fingers play over Zuko’s hips and up his sides, smooth over his shoulders, down his chest, and to his thighs, leaving behind a breathtaking, encompassing heat that stokes Zuko’s already raging inner fire—it’s _perfectly_ distracting. But he doesn’t bother in pulling those hands away, and Sokka doesn’t bother with stopping, even when Zuko tugs lightly on the end of the braid to pull his attention back to his face.

“Yeah,” Sokka whispers, leaning in for one more kiss and a quick, affectionate run of his hand over his lover’s braid hidden in Zuko’s hair.

“My turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Why’s it blue, if it’s from Zuko?” Aang asks, once he’s finally floated back down after Sokka revealed his braid._
> 
> _“Because I have an unprepared nuisance of a grandson,” Gran-Gran fires out before Sokka can answer, and pins him with a fondly disapproving glare. “Who decided to go and ruin his own shirt to get what he needed for his little love confession. Guess who had to fix that.”_
> 
> _“Yeah, that seems right,” Aang nods, far too understanding._
> 
> _“Sokka, I can’t believe you’re making Gran-Gran do extra work!” Katara adds just to be childishly petty, and Sokka shrieks at the audacity._
> 
> _“Excuse me, it was the heat of the moment! I couldn’t just **let go** of the braid and ruin the romance!”_
> 
> _“Next time,” Gran-Gran commands, with a stern finger pointed his way, “tear off one of his tassels instead. My to-do list is getting long again."_
> 
> _“Gran,” Katara says, startled, “do you need one of us to do it? We’d be happy to help.”_
> 
> _But her offer is only waved away with a hum, as Gran-Gran fixes Sokka with a twinkling smirk. “That’s alright, Katara. I like making that boy squirm.”_
> 
> _(Sokka loves his Gran-Gran so much.)_
> 
> -  
> i am once again declaring my love for writing zukka banter lmao 
> 
> if you want, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/leopardfringe) or [tumblr](https://chitsangenthusiast.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
